Independence Day
by caremkefo
Summary: When 4th of July fireworks trigger Dean, sending him back to Afghanistan, Cas calms him down. (Set after my fics, 'Man On A Ledge' and 'Walking on Air'.)


A loud _boom_ shakes the room and Dean rolls off the sofa in one smooth motion. He hunches low, moving backwards with one hand outstretched until his back hits the wall, all senses on alert as he searches for danger.

"Dean?" Castiel asks quietly, still sitting on the sofa but now sitting upright. "Dean, it's alright. You're alright. You're safe."

He jerks his head to the window as another series of _booms_ and _bangs_ explode outside. He instinctively reaches for his sidearm, but it's missing. His gun - where is his gun?

"Dean," Castiel says, his tone low and controlled. "Look at me."

Dean stares outside as the sky lit up in shades of green and red. Green smoke for a pick-up point; red smoke telling the bombers where to drop their payload.

_"Look at me."_

Dean looks at Cas and frowns, as if seeing him for the first time. "Cas?" he asks, his surprise evident. "What are you doing here?" He looks around. "Where am I?"

Castiel stands up and moves slowly towards Dean. "You're _home_."

Dean looks around the room, seeing the unfamiliar furniture and ornaments. "This isn't my home."

"No," Castiel agrees carefully. "It's _ours_."

"Ours?" Dean echoes.

"Yes."

Understanding flickers across Dean's face as he processes this, his surroundings slowly becoming familiar again as he remembers where he is. Another explosion rumbled outside. "Cas?" he asks, trying to control the fear churning in his stomach.

"It's the fourth of July," Castiel explains calmly.

"I'm home?"

"You're home."

Dean sucks in a deep breath. _Home_. "For a moment I was..."

"Back there," Cas finishes for him.

"Yeah."

"Come with me," Castiel orders, holding out his hand.

Dean takes it without question, then Castiel puts the TV off and leads him upstairs. His grip on Castiel's hand tightens with every further explosion, but Cas doesn't complain that it hurts.

"Lie down on the bed."

Dean complies, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

"Close your eyes."

Dean's eyelids flutter closed.

Another explosion, followed by a crackling sound. Dean's eyes fly open.

"It's okay," Castiel says soothingly. "You're safe. Close your eyes."

Dean obeys, and something settles over his ears.

"Tell me if it's too loud."

Ah. Earphones. _Hey Jude_ starts playing, and he gives Cas the thumbs up.

He focuses on the music, familiar and reassuring, and lets it drown out all other noises while Cas stroked a hand through his hair.

_Hey Jude_ ends, but Cas has obviously put the track on repeat because it starts again.

"I'm sorry I ruined our night!" Dean almost shouts when he's calmer, so he can hear himself about the music.

Cas presses a finger over Dean's lips and a kiss to his forehead.

The music drowns out the explosions outside if he concentrates on it hard enough, and Castiel's warm presence is reassuring, but still it didn't ease the tension in his body completely.

The mattress dips as Castiel moves without warning, and Dean's eyes fly open as he reaches out to make him stay.

Castiel shakes his head, amusement twinkling in his eyes and silent words crossing his lips. He pulls his tie loose and holds it in front of Dean's face with a questioning expression. Dean hesitates for a split second, then nods. Castiel nods back, placing the blue fabric across his eyes and tying it in a simple knot when Dean raises his head.

Dean isn't helpless, but he feels vulnerable when it happens. He's beginning to realise that his father's drinking had been his way of dealing with the PTSD, which wasn't viewed in the same light then as it is now. With Dr Cartwright's counselling, a local AA group, and a lot of support from Cas, Dean is staying sober.

Cas.

It's 84 days since Cas came home drunk. Almost three months. Neither of them had touched alcohol in that time, so Dean counts that as a win. Twelve weeks since Cas came home drunk, and twelve weeks since they got engaged. He should probably tell Sam.

He flinches as he hears another firework, closer than the others, above the music playing in his ears. His heart beats a frantic rhythm, but Castiel's hands are soothing as they stroke his body; grounding him. If he focuses on the music and on Cas, then maybe he'll be okay.

A weight settles across his legs as Castiel straddles him, and he frowns underneath the makeshift blindfold. What's Cas doing?

Rough hands slip up and under his shirt, pushing it up to his armpits and exposing his chest. The room is cold and a shivery breath brushes over his lips, becoming a gasp when Castiel's warm, wet tongue licks over one hardened nipple.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans.

He could swear he can _feel_ Cas smiling against his skin as he teases his nipples, licking and pinching and sucking and biting until even the faintest huff of breath set his skin alight with desire.

He's glad he told Cas that his mom used to sing this song to him when he was little. He doesn't think Led Zeppelin would have quite the same effect. Although maybe associating childhood memories with sex isn't a good thing...

"Can we change the music?" he asked loudly.

The silence that fell suddenly was deafening.

"Are you alright? I thought _Hey Jude_ was soothing?"

"It is. But I'm not sure I want memories of my mother overlapping with you giving me a blowjob."

"Oh? Is that what I'm doing?" Cas asked, his tone playful.

"Well, I figured you're heading that way."

Dean would bet fifty bucks Cas was giving him an amused glare.

_"I'm too sexy for my love..."_

Dean burst out laughing as Right Said Fred started playing in his ears, and figured he'd have won that bet.

_"...Too sexy for my love_  
_Love's going to leave me..."_

"You son of a bitch," he chuckles.

Castiel's weight shifts down as he moves lower, biting and kissing and licking his way to the waistband of his jeans. Dean's breath hitches as Cas frees his cock and gives it a few firm strokes, then closes his lips around it. He traces circles around the head with his tongue, his hand a firm pressure around the base, then licks across the slit.

_Tease_, Dean thinks, as he instinctively bucks up into his fiancé's mouth.

Then Castiel's mouth works in tandem with his hand, down and up, down and up, working Dean closer and closer to the edge. And this is the only time that Cas will let him go; let him fall. Sometimes Cas falls with him. Dean pushes up his blindfold, knocking his headphones, to find Cas's hand buried in his pants, eyes closed as he strokes himself once, twice, three times. Then his face goes slack and he collapses on top of him.

"'M sorry," Cas apologises sluggishly. "This was supposed to be about you."

"'S okay," Dean mumbles back. "I'm not gonna be mad that you get off on sucking me." He chuckles when Cas gives his thigh a half-hearted, playful slap. "And as a distraction, it worked."

Several more explosions erupt in quick succession, and Dean flinches.

"Well, for a minute it did," he concedes, trying to will away the returning tension in his body.

Cas reaches up and repositions the headphones over Dean's ears, and a moment later John Bonham is using his eardrums to play _Ramble On_. If he concentrates on the song the explosions outside become manageable background noise, and Cas's warm weight on Dean's chest keeps him grounded. So long as his iPod battery doesn't die before he falls asleep or the fireworks stop, and Cas doesn't move, he thinks he should be alright.

. * * * .

When he wakes up in the morning he's embarrassed, before remembering that he doesn't need to be. His father's response to PTSD might have been shame and drink, but that doesn't need to be _Dean's_. He has a therapist, a gold chip in his wallet representing ten months of sobriety, and a fiancé whom he loves and loves him in return.

He turns to look at Cas, who's rolled off him in the night. A hand under the covers tells him that yeah, Cas is half hard. Carefully, he moves down the bed and tugs Cas's jeans and boxers down, causing him to fidget in his sleep - and okay, falling asleep in their clothes makes morning sex less simple than it should be. Dean licks and sucks Cas to complete hardness, before taking as much in his mouth as he can and humming.

Above him Cas shifts, then stills. "_Oh_," he says.

Now that Cas is awake Dean starts to move, then a hand snakes under the covers to fist gently in his hair.

"I take it this means you're feeling better this morning," Cas observes, sounding pleased.

Dean simply hums in response, and Cas makes a choking sound. He pulls off long enough to tease, "Hey, _I'm_ the one with a dick in his mouth and _I'm_ not choking!"

But Cas's hand is pushing his face back down before he's even finished speaking, and Dean sucks with renewed enthusiasm because his fiancé is demanding before he's had his morning coffee and Dean _loves_ it. Loves how some mornings he will wake up to Cas impatiently rubbing his cock between his cheeks, only pushing in when Dean mumbles, 'Good morning to you, too.' Loves when Cas grows impatient with Dean's slow love-making and rolls them over, riding Dean harder and faster and _deeper_. Loves when he's starts blowing Cas but finishes getting face-fucked until Cas is coming down his throat.

But he also loves it when Cas holds back and lets Dean take his time, which he's doing this morning. A hand in his hair and encouraging noises are as demanding as Cas is this morning, and he wonders if it's got anything to do with last night. Eventually Cas comes in his mouth and Dean swallows everything, licking and sucking and nuzzling Cas's softening cock until it's completely spent.

As he moves up the bed Cas's hands are already on Dean's zipper, slipping inside as Dean slips his tongue in Castiel's mouth, stroking him to climax as Dean kisses him. He comes with a moan, both breathing into each other's mouths until they come down from the high of release.

"Much better," Dean manages to say eventually, answering Cas's earlier question. "Last night... Thanks. I needed that."

"I'm here for you, Dean," Cas tells him, taking his hand. "As you are for me."

"Yeah."

"For better or worse, in sickness and in health, to love and—"

"Cas."

"Hmm?"

"We still haven't set a date. Save your vows for the wedding."

Cas snorts. "A guy can't practice?"

"I'd rather practice for the wedding _night_," Dean says slyly.

"Isn't that what we just did?" Cas smirks.

"We should practice _more_," Dean tells him, his hand wandering lower.

"Hmm, okay. But you're going to have to give me half an hour," Cas chuckles, batting his hand away.

"You're getting old."

Cas brushes his fingers through the grey flecks growing in at Dean's temple. "So are you."

Dean catches his fiancé's hand and brings it to his lips, kissing his fingertips. "We're getting old together."

"Yes, we are."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."


End file.
